


Sunshowers

by winchysteria



Series: Destiel Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Trials of Heaven, at least as far as s9, cas comes back to life with literally zero explanation so there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchysteria/pseuds/winchysteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas kisses Dean, it is a thunderstorm.<br/>When Dean kisses Cas, it is sunlight.</p><p>or: can't we just fix the whole heaven thing and fall in love instead</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshowers

When Cas kisses Dean, it is a thunderstorm.

 

They were having a moment of peace, or as near to peace as the Winchesters can get anymore. It was sunny outside, and the park was windy, fast food wrappers fluttering from underneath the drink Sam had weighted them down with. Cas traced a fingernail along the whorls in the wood of the picnic table, thinking.

He’d known what was going to happen when Dean had called him. “We don’t know why it’s gotta be you, Cas, but it does. Gadreel said so, Bartholomew said so, Crowley said so, and those bastards sure don’t agree on how to lie. It’s you or nothin’, and the big feathery family will be after you as soon as they get their hands on eye of newt and toe of frog or whatever the hell else they need to open the pearly gates again.”

Cas had sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “What do you want me to do, Dean?”

"It’s your choice, Cas." The words clung to Dean like a scared child on the first day of school, but they were there. "But I- well, Sam and I are just outside of Cincinnati and we’re pulling into a motel, so, um, keep me posted."

 _But I want you here_  echoed, unspoken, down the line.

Eye of newt had been in Cincinnati. She still counted as a nephilim, Cas had assured Dean, even if the angel was fallen. She was beautiful, too, with a healthy newborn wail and already-thick brown hair and gray eyes just like Nahaliel’s vessel. The angel had assured his wife that this tired-looking man in a trenchcoat was a trusted relation and that Thea would be safe with him for a moment. Cas had cradled the baby in his arms and hummed a little before placing a very deliberate kiss on her forehead and handing her back to her exhausted mother. He did not look at Dean, who had been waiting outside the hospital room, until they were in the Impala.

Toe of frog was a state and a half over, in Chicago. The cupid had been in the guise of a woman named Marcia, who began to tear up when Cas offered her the bow. She let it land on her cheek as a birthmark, running her fingers over it thoughtfully as Sam explained that they needed her to use it in Cas’ presence. “Of course, of course,” she said. “Tonight, my goddaughter has her quinceañera. It will be no problem.”

It was a big party, and nobody seemed to be bothered that three strangers in federal-looking tuxedos showed up looking lost. While Sam was whirled into a series of dances with all of the birthday girl’s beautiful aunts, Dean and Cas tailed Marcia until she enveloped a bright-eyed teenaged girl wearing a cascading pink dress in a hug. She unleashed a rapid stream of ecstatic Spanglish and kissed her goddaughter on the cheek, brushing her lightly with the bow, before grabbing a nearby blond boy and doing the same to him.

But with two down and one to go, there was no more avoiding the decision.

"All right," Sam said, squinting up at Cas in the sunlight. "You blessed the nephilim?"

"Her Thursdays will almost always be good," Cas replied with a small smile.

"You affirmed the Cupid’s actions?"

"If I still understand Spanish, he was already practically one of the family. He makes her happy. She makes him happy. It was easy to approve."

"And when the gates of heaven open, it’ll be with enough force to destroy any angel standing too close. Including both Bartholomew and Malachi and whoever else will be after you, trying to stop you. And the grace is all that’s left."

A dull roar began in Cas’ ears. “Yes.”

"Well?" Sam said, catching a straw wrapper that had started to fly away and fiddling with it.

It was silent for a moment. Dean, who hadn’t spoken since they started eating, cleared his throat. 

The rush grew louder. Cas dragged his gaze up from his hands, took in the golden edge of Dean’s hair and eyelashes.

"It does have to be me," the angel said, straightening his shoulders. Nobody had asked the question, but it hung heavy in the air. At the hospital, at the quinceañera, and now here.

Sam already knew. He had seen it long before Dean did. And Dean- well, Dean didn’t want to know. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t blind, but he was protective, and he was convinced that love, from him or for him, was corrosive. Poisonous. It ruined people.

Cas could barely hear himself now over the roar in his ears. “It has to be me because I’m in love with a human. Because I would rather be with a human than in heaven.”

Dean made a choked-off sound, curling in on himself, preparing to say something. The sun coated all of them, but Cas could hear torrential rain as he gripped the hunter’s jacket. “Dean Winchester,” Cas said. “I am going to stand at the gates of heaven and rip out my grace because I choose to. And I am in love with you, and it is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

When Cas kisses Dean, he tastes like desperation and a river, and he traces Dean’s worthiness into his own mouth, and they see lightning as they angle closer, and they hear thunder as Cas disappears.

* * *

 

When Dean kisses Cas, it is sunlight.

 

Dean sat in the Impala for just a second longer. “Hang on, Sammy,” he said, running a hand over the dashboard. “I’m saying good-bye to my girl.”

"Well, hurry it up, because I have a date with an actual human woman in like, ten minutes," Sam replied, checking his watch and the sky in turn. "And I don’t want to show up soaking wet, which I will if I don’t-  _hey!”_

Dean grinned up at him before swinging his legs out of the car. “You stand in the way of the car door and your ass is getting bruised. Them’s the rules.”

Sam rubbed his right hip and held out a hand for the keys, fuming mildly. Dean dropped them into his fingers and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck with Cupid’s sister-in-law!” he said before the first few drops of rain chased him back into the bunker.

Things had slowed down a lot since heaven reopened for business. (At least, they assumed the spell had worked, since they hadn’t heard from any of the angels for weeks.) Sure, Abaddon and Crowley were having a pissing contest, but they kept each other mostly out of trouble. Business these days was almost routine. Vengeful spirits, some cursed objects, two malevolent covens, and one particularly interesting poltergeist. Sam tended to stay in and research and answer calls when they came in, which was happening more and more often as other hunters started taking over cases. He was on date number four with one of the cute aunts from the quinceañera.

Dean did some legwork and some salt-and-burns, and more and more often he found himself experimenting with spellwork. It was reassuring, figuring out the mechanics of herbs and artifacts and Latin. Kind of like baking, or fixing cars. It was just archaic chemistry and physics, if you really thought about it.

He sure as hell didn’t date, though.

He could distract himself pretty well these days, and he felt mostly happy when he thought about how Sam was healthy and optimistic and growing outwards. But god, was there an ache in his chest. It wasn’t like it had been with Cassie or Robin. Those felt like his ribcage had been torn open and he was wearing too-tight armor around it, trying to hold it together. With Cas, it felt- it felt like Emma, almost, like a possibility entertained for a split second and then burned to the ground. He saw over and over the images of Cas cradling a baby and singing. Of Cas at a raucous party, leaning into Dean to say something with heart-shaped confetti in his hair. Of Cas holding on to Dean’s jacket and pulling him in and kissing him like Dean was worth falling in love with.

But it also felt like he was missing a limb, like he was only now acknowledging how much he needed his right leg, or maybe the entire right side of his body.

Without Sam off on his dinner date, Dean wandered aimlessly through the bunker. Through the library, and then the kitchen, his bedroom and Sam’s, the computer room, the garage. He hummed as he made a sandwich and allowed himself to be aware of the phantom pain where Cas should be.

Maybe if it was still there, he was still alive.

They hadn’t heard otherwise.

It was what had kept Dean from going under.

Settling down at one of the library tables, he could hear muffled sounds of rain on the Bunker’s roof. If it was audible inside, it was probably pouring outside.

In his own pajamas, in his own bunker, eating his own food, Dean felt a little bit hopeful. Being trapped in by the storm was comforting instead of claustrophobic. Because it felt like home, he supposed, paging through yesterday’s newspaper. And home, said something small and golden and hopeful inside his chest, was a place people came back to.

He jumped as someone pounded at the bunker door. It could be any number of demons or monsters, but these days, it was more likely to be Sam getting the phone or wallet he forgot. 

Dean grabbed a silver knife and the holy water and crept towards the door. The peephole was blurred with the rain, but he could make out one solitary figure that didn’t look Sam-y.

The golden thing in his ribcage glowed a little bigger and a little brighter as he inched the door open.

"Water. Knife. Now," the figure said, grabbing the items out of Dean’s hands when he didn’t hand them over fast enough. He cut his arm and splashed the water on it.

"Cas."

Lightning flashed outside, silhouetting the bedraggled man in white light. He looked exhausted and soaked and spent. He should not have been alive. He was the most beautiful thing- Dean would never say it out loud, but there it was- the most beautiful thing that the hunter had ever seen.

He felt warmth blossoming behind his collarbone, tightening his throat and pulling at the corners of his mouth. Cas started to smile. It was craggy and it trembled. It was the new most beautiful thing Den had ever seen.

"Jesus Christ, Cas," he said finally, throwing his arms around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him in, twisting his fingers into his dripping hair. Cas’ arms wound around Dean’s waist and he  _gripped._

Maybe three seconds in, someone’s knees gave out and they were both on the floor and Dean pulled the smaller man into his lap and cradled his face in his hands. Cas was shivering, and there was rain pouring in through the still-open door, but everything felt warm and bright and washed in color anyway.

 _I am in love with you,_ Dean wanted to say.  _I am in love with you and it is the best thing that has ever happened to me._ But he was still terrible with words.

When Dean kisses Cas, he tastes like sunrise and gold and home, and he lays the promise of it on Cas’ lips, and they can see each other like a light at the end of the tunnel, and they know they will walk into the brightness together.


End file.
